Death should have known it wouldn't last very long, but he had never been a good judge of time. Immortality grants you a lot of things, but deprives you of important human senses, like self-preservation and a near-critical awareness of how long it has been.

When Death first met Daiki, he felt a little surprised. Daiki was the fifth on the day's list. He was scheduled to depart from the conscious world via a train explosion in his carriage. The details, still strikingly clear in Death's mind, were very simple: the carriage explodes, takes out one unfortunate man who just happened to sit on the very seat where the steam pipes burst. Death knew no one who would grieve Daiki's death, because Death knew Daiki had no one left. He took the guy's parents long ago, and he never had siblings. He took Momoi Satsuki, Daiki's best friend and could-have-been, five years ago when she fell ill and succumbed to a rare disease the Death saw as a fitting end to a smart and vivacious woman. Daiki didn't have any other friends, never met anyone worth the time, and at twenty-six, Daiki was more alone than others fifty years his senior.

All this Death knew, and knew well.

He didn't know what possessed him to walk over to the man, rouse him from his sleep, and talk to him.


"Hello."

"Who are you?"

"Kuroko Tetsuya. Nice to meet you."


Talking to Daiki was his first mistake.

Daiki was engaging, full of vigour and life and the youthful abandon Death (or Kuroko, or Tetsu as Daiki decided to call him afterwards, a name that he knew he'd keep using until he ceases to exist) had come to associate with children still growing up, unaware of the dangers of such a complex and devious universe. Daiki shone with such an inexplicably strong light that for a moment Tetsu forgot he was supposed to die. It was the first time he questioned the way he took people's lives — how could he kill this man who had so much life in him? What was the world to gain with the death of one man who had so much suppressed passion and no one to share it with? Surely this man has so many more chances… Who was he to take that away?


"Why don't you try to live more?"

"I am trying, I am living more. Just that there isn't much to live for, I guess."

"Try looking for something."

"S'the only reason why I got on this train, actually. Was hoping I could find it somewhere else."


Not taking Daiki was his second mistake.

They were friends, and then lovers, and in the middle of things Tetsu would sneak out and fulfill his duties to an unknown master. He began to wonder why he had to do something he had no right to. At night, when Daiki's kisses and his weight pressing him down were all he knew to be true, Tetsu wonders how he could take such emotions and realities away from a man or a woman who had someone, anyone waiting for them, only to find out they'd never return. Suddenly, Death seemed like a demon, a bringer of evil and misfortune, something (or someone) who deserved to die as well. Which was odd, because he never saw himself through the eyes of a human until then.

It took him several millennia to know what he's been doing all along.

And it took Daiki three years to figure out something was off.


"What are you doing? What do you do when you're away?"

"You wouldn't want to know."

"Oh, really. Try me."

"I kill people."

"What?"

"Hello, Daiki. My name is Death."


Telling Daiki was his third mistake.

When Daiki found out, nothing had visibly changed, but there was tension where nothing had been before. Every time Daiki hears news of death, he'd spare Tetsu a glance which he could not understand, even after years of living under the same roof and sleeping under the same sheets. There was friction, and it burned them.

It was probably the consequence of being so selfish and saving Daiki. Tetsu began to wonder who it was he served, and why he was being punished for a split-second's selfish decision.

He'd leave the house while Daiki showered, carry out the deaths of those on his list, come back well past midnight to find Daiki sprawled all over the couch with a book in one hand and a coffee mug on the table with the television still on. He was a phantom, after all, and he was always adept at keeping a low profile, so he'd sneak past Daiki, grab a blanket from the bedroom, drape it over his body, watch him sleep… Worry about the rest of the things he could not worry about, wonder about all the things he never used to wonder about. Daiki, however, always wakes up just as Tetsu finishes tucking him under the sheets, always lifts a hand and cups Tetsu's face, and he always whispers softly and plants a kiss on his cheek, says "I love you" and "I'm sorry" and "Stop leaving me", and every time he does, Tetsu feels fragments of his immortality being chipped away. The first time Tetsu left without a word was the first time Daiki did this, and it was the moment Tetsu realised he couldn't die once, but that he wasn't immortal: he was going to have to die a thousand or a million deaths until he could leave and rest.


"What would you do if I died?"

"I'd probably follow soon after."

"Where do people go when you kill them?"

"I never really found out."


Letting Daiki die was his fourth mistake.

Daiki fell ill, and it wasn't in Tetsu's list. It could have been nothing but punishment for his selfishness, punishment by the one who orchestrated all this in the first place. Hypocritical.

Each day brought the same harrowing worry, and the vacuous silence of the hospital room stopped his breath every now and then. Daiki's breaths were short and heavy and painful to listen to. Tetsu stayed by his side, neglected his duties, and people who should have died kept on living. It was the second time he defied orders, but he didn't care just then - he was no longer afraid of repercussions. His punishment was to watch the one he loved die. Nothing could have been worse than that.

And yet even until the end, Daiki smiled.


"Oi, Tetsu. You can let me go now."

"Shut up and don't be an idiot."

"You know I was never that smart and I could never keep my mouth shut for very long."

"Stop it. You will live."

"We both know I won't. Let's face it. Besides, I never regretted anything. 'M okay with this now."

"Can it, Daiki."

"You have so many more chances."

"I only had one chance, and I used it on you."


Tetsu fell.

Death didn't have wings. Death couldn't fly. Death could take, but only until Daiki did Tetsu realise that death could also give. And Tetsu's gift to himself was something only Death could have given.


"I love you, Tetsu."

"Stop being so sappy, Daiki."

"But I do!"

"...yeah. I know."


Tetsu fell, and then all was quiet.